


Small ball of self hatred

by HouseElfWobbly



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Bullying, Fat Shaming, Gen, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, weightloss mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 17:06:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8498215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HouseElfWobbly/pseuds/HouseElfWobbly
Summary: There was a "blood" prompt on Imzy's /write_now and i went with that. My mood is as shitty as my writing, I'm a little bit sorry, but I also enjoyed using poor Yuuri for writing nonsense about my own feelings.





	

Piggy. Not worth being trained. Yuuri had begun typing a new tweet on his dark account, but no words seemed worth being written, no jokes being made.  
  
Had he been too fat for the imitation that had gotten Viktor interested? In his mind, he turned into a laughing matter. Inevitably, his hands drifted to the metal box that sat next to his bed, never quite forgotten, seldom used.  
  
The repurposed blade was small and not very sharp and he felt the familiar tug of shame for not even cutting right, for being mediocre in hurting himself. Sliding down his pants and firmly dragging the tip of the blade over his naked thighs, his focus narrowed to the stinging, the itching, the movements of his fingers.  
  
Another tiny cut. Another one right next to it. There was no need to be afraid for his bedsheets, the cuts were small, the delicate pearls of blood almost never broke free. He had put so much strength in it and was disappointed to see the tame result, knowing it would only take days to heal, he would have to keep scratching it, and the scar would be a narrow line, barely noticeable, had there not been as many on his body already. Faker.  
  
Three in a row, a jerking motion, just digging the tip in, as deep as this blade would let him. Another three. Two. Desperate euphoria. As many as he could. Yuuri fell back. Finally, single drops of blood emerging, flowing together and blurring his work. But that was it. Nothing more would come.  
  
There was no need to dwell on it. Pulling a tissue from the box next ton him, Yuuri soaked up the blood just in case, as he put the blade into it's box and closed it, pulled up his pants, and moved to the shower.   
  
He detested the sensation of hot water on cuts, on large fresh cuts, on small fresh cuts. The sensation of water on wounds. How everything felt worse than it was. As if he was doing it right. The shower that he took was long, and hot.  
  
He would work out until he was worthy. Of course he could handle it.


End file.
